


Overrides

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Injury, Mind Control, Power Dynamics, Pre-Canon, Robotics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2011-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 12:36:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arm he crafts for her is the finest piece of robotics that he has yet completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Overrides

**Author's Note:**

> For one of the mini-cards at kink_bingo on DW this month -- the bingo squares are "mind control," "body alteration/injury," and "mechanical/technological."
> 
> And well. Hey. Hello, excellent canon opportunity.

They have always hated each other cordially, with little heat—enough to suit their station, but not enough to become a real passion. They trust each other implicitly, each certain that the other will betray them at any appealing opportunity. In short, it is a proper and civil understanding between two young noble trolls.

Until Vriska displays the poor judgment to provoke Terezi Pyrope, and is injured in the backlash. She pleads with Equius to help her in the aftermath, to put his robotics skills to use on her behalf. Weakened, she cannot attempt to force compliance from him; instead she appeals to flattery. He can see her self-serving tactics for what they are, but he accepts the challenge.

While he works on the new arm she requires, Equius considers whether he could pity her. The circumstances seem to offer an ideal opportunity; he has seen the extent of her wounds, has measured the breadth of the jagged ruin of her shoulder. If he had not already known her, he decides, he would pity her now. But he did and he does know her better than that, and he suspects that she would only repay pity with contempt. There is no point in waxing red for someone who would treat it simply as a weakness by which she could exploit him.

Instead of infusing his work with pity, then, Equius infuses it with caution. Already this is a complicated piece of engineering, a limb dexterous enough to suit Vriska's practical needs and elegant enough to suit her vanity; he builds in yet another layer of complexity, adding the failsafes that will allow him to retain the upper hand in their future exchanges. Sweat beads on his forehead as he works, and Arthour, ever attentive, wipes his brow for him.

The arm he crafts for her is the finest piece of robotics that he has yet completed. It seems a shame to give it to her, when she will be too crass to appreciate it—he will treat this as a rough draft for his true masterwork, for the great feats of robotic engineering he has yet to accomplish. Vriska has given him this goal, and he has reached it; in the future, he will surpass this effort.

He gathers up the arm, the fittings to attach it, and a stack of spare towels, then heads out for the journey to Vriska's hive. Nearby as it is, the trek is arduous; the ravine between them contains some ill-conceived machinery of hers, half-complete and suspended above the hulking threat that is her lusus. Equius treks down to the base of his own cliff, takes the long route around to the foot of hers, and makes the second climb. Neither of them has ever suggested easing the path between them with a bridge.

Vriska has told him where to expect traps when he enters her hive, and because he has something she wants, she has told him the truth, her typing slow and error-ridden as she tapped out the words with her remaining hand. Equius avoids the snares, the spider-venomed darts, the one ungainly trap door that likely leads straight down to her lusus's lair. "Vriska," he says when he reaches the entrance portal to her room, announcing his presence.

"You've brought it?" she says, which is near enough to permission to enter. She sounds stronger than she had the last time they spoke: she is healing well, then, as a troll must to have any hope of surviving to adulthood.

Equius steps into her room, dice from her gaming habits crunching to powder beneath his feet. "I have," he says.

Vriska is seated, half reclining, holding herself with far more poise and far less evidence of pain than last time he saw her. Her shirt is open, so it will be easy to reach her shoulder when he must. She smiles at him, her fangs showing, her eye glittering in delight. She has found a patch to cover the loss of the other, multi-pupiled one; she is well on her way to making her injuries a display of intimidation rather than weakness. "Show me," she purrs.

"Of course," Equius says. He kneels beside her, retrieving the arm from his sylladex. As always, the need to be so _careful_ , to spend such effort containing his strength, makes him begin to sweat. Vriska, for once, displays the restraint befitting her blood and does not mock him. His hands tremble with the effort required to unfold the arm, to articulate the fine joints of the hand; perspiration beads on his brow.

"You should let me help you with that," Vriska says. She gestures casually, the flick of her claws indicating his condition.

"Excuse me?" Equius says. Embarrassed, he produces a towel, staining it faintly blue as he wipes at his face.

Vriska smiles again, and it is plainly contempt that curls the corner of her lip. A quiet, admiring hatred kindles below Equius's ribs. "I can keep you calm while you work," she says. "So you don't have that problem."

Equius stares at her, not certain he has understood the offer correctly. "You want me to let you into my mind." The idea is exceptionally improper and exceedingly foolish, and does nothing to help him feel more in control of himself.

"I know, I know, you can't trust me," Vriska says, and damn her, she _pouts_. "Except that I need you right now, see? I can't afford to turn on you when you're doing something so essential to my own well-being."

It is as convincing an argument as one blueblood is likely to make to another. "If you overstep your bounds, I will not hesitate to stop you," Equius says. Perhaps it won't come to that. He has his doubts.

Vriska rolls her eye. "Quit stalling and let's do it!"

"Indeed," Equius says. If nothing else, then this whole sordid process will be _over_. "You...may begin."

The delicate, spidery touch of her mind against his raises the hair on the back of his neck; for a moment he feels pure, instinctive rage at the violation, and then Vriska is _there_ , smoothing the feeling over, easing it away. She settles a false calm over him; it still takes effort to control himself, but the effort doesn't feel so vexing now.

"Your shoulder," he says, a request. Vriska shrugs out of her shirt, baring gray skin and the pale, inflamed blue of fresh scars. Equius studies the wound, feeling...very little, he discovers on examination. It is the sort of sight that should inspire emotion, pity or predation or discomfort at the intimacy—but Vriska is holding all of that at bay for now. "I am ready to fit the socket," he warns her. "It will not feel pleasant."

"I've had worse," Vriska says airily. Likely it is true; Equius imagines the explosion that first cost her the arm must have been more painful than the process of having this replacement fitted.

He works as quickly as he dares, molding the socket to her shoulder, threading in the cables, setting the necessary bolts. Her breath comes quickly between clenched teeth, and his hands raise bruises around her collarbone despite his efforts to be gentle—but the socket fits against her skin, flush against the surface and nearly seamless. As she finishes healing, it will settle into place more certainly.

By the time Equius sits back to reach for the arm itself, they are both sweating, though thanks to her control he does so no more than she does. He wipes his hands on a towel, then thinks to offer it to her as well. She blots her face and pushes damp hair back from her eyes.

"We're almost done now, right?" she asks as she tosses the towel on the floor.

Equius nods. "The attachment itself should go quickly. You are ready?"

"Bring it on," Vriska says, though that may be a tremor in her voice.

With her grip on his emotions as firm as it currently is, he could not pity her even should he want to.

Equius picks up the arm he has crafted for her, nearly as careful with it as he would be with flesh. He aligns it with the socket and slots Vriska's new arm home. Her whole body goes rigid with the shock, lips peeling back from her fangs in a grimace, and the sound that escapes her throat is almost horrible in its intimacy. Her breath shakes, and a faint blue tear runs down her cheek, but after a moment she lifts her new arm and the fingers curl in a graceful, natural-looking arc. Equius rises to his feet, stepping back.

"You will probably need some time to fully adjust to controlling it," he says. "But I believe we should be done here."

Then, as he had half expected, she turns on him. "Why are you in such a hurry?" she asks, and as she stands up he feels his knees bend without his leave. "I'd hate to just send you away without thanking you after you've given me something like this."

Where before his emotions felt distant, now Equius feels overwhelmed by them, dizzy with the revulsion and arousal of being forced into such a position. He glares up at Vriska's wicked, triumphant smile, hate flaring into passion in his veins. No. That isn't his own. He struggles against the feeling, gritting his teeth. "You will get out of my head," he insists.

Vriska laughs nastily. "Oh, come on, everybody knows you don't like to be the one _giving_ the orders," she says. "Why not let yourself give in?"

 _Because there would be repercussions_ , Equius thinks, and hardly cares if she can hear him. _Because neither your blood nor your behavior are refined enough to redeem this depravity._

Her eye narrows, so likely she can hear his thoughts clearly enough, the idea if not the specific words. Her presence crawls through his mind, quelling the rage he should be feeling, toying with his attraction to power and its wielders. She is close enough that she _could_ be what he craves, if only she were—if only the situation between them were—not. Like. This.

He fumbles open his sylladex and takes out the control unit he'd brought as a contingency plan, fighting to push Vriska out of his mind enough that she can't stop him. He never should have allowed her in to begin with.

Not violence; violence will make this escalate, and he doesn't want to court kismessisitude with his nearest neighbor. Perhaps humiliation will do likewise, but perhaps not—they are alone, with nobody to witness her defeat. She may forget it in favor of grander schemes.

Equius flips the switch to override her control of the robotic arm, and he can _feel_ the lapse in her concentration from the way his mind starts to clear.

"What are you doing?" Vriska demands. "What do you think you're doing with my arm?"

The gleaming alloy hand slides down her stomach and slips beneath the waistband of her jeans; she squirms as if she could get away from her arm. Equius is perspiring heavily, both from the lewdness of this tactic and from the effort of trying to push her out of his mind. "I will release you when you release me," he says, struggling to his feet. "Unless you would prefer to give in yourself."

"Never," Vriska says, and he can feel her prying at his mind, trying to stop him from tweaking the arm's controls, but Equius has found his bearings and the distraction of the robotics pressing between her legs is—he shouldn't think of it in such detail; this is a battle for composure.

It goes on for a moment longer as they stare tensely at each other, as Vriska's cheeks flush blue and Equius soaks his shirt with perspiration, and finally Vriska says, "Fiiiiiiiine, you're no fun anyway. See if I try to do you any more favors!"

She releases her hold then, which means Equius can actually _feel_ the irritation bordering on anger at that statement. _She_ is the one who has done _him_ a favor here? It's tempting to break his end of the bargain, to force her to continue this lewd display and remind her that she is beneath him—but no. No. There is a stalemate to maintain.

Equius shuts off the override controls, taking a step back as Vriska removes her arm from her pants. "If it malfunctions," he says, "you know how to reach me."

He makes his exit while the truce holds.


End file.
